With Harp and Crown. A novel. By the authors of 'Ready-Money Mortiboy' [i.e. Sir W. Besant and J. Rice], etc

Chapter I

i R*fSNJjR- CHACOMB went down to Dcvon- : p^a I shire, and arrived at Chacomb in ■irrSSfTll time for dinner. He did not think it necessary to announce his inten tions. The house looked quiet and even de serted; the gravel walks were half grown over with grass; the beds, which ought to have been gay with spring flowers, were bare; there was no one about the place; the front door, generally open, was shut. What could it mean? He walked to the back of the house, and entered by the stables. In the hall there was no one; in the breakfast-room no one; in the dining-room, drawing- VOL. HI. I room, and library no one. He thought of the Collection-room. Chauncey Chacomb was sit ting there in a corner, his head half resting on the uneven shoulder, his face the image of despond ency. He started to his feet, however, when he saw his cousin, and rushed to meet him in a kind of rapture.

"Joe!" he cried — "cousin Joe! Oh, Joe, why were you not here a fortnight ago?" "Why did you not write to me? Come, Chauncey, this is not the way a bridegroom should look. Cheer up, man; pluck up spirit, and be happy." He shook his head dolefully. "Happy!" he groaned. "Happiness and I parted four years ago, when I did — you know what. If you'd come a fortnight ago, you might have prevented it." " My dear Chauncey, you are not a child in leading-strings. Come, sit down, and tell me all about it. Where is she?" "She's upstairs in her bed-room, with her maid. She's trying on all the dresses. There are hundreds of them lying in drawers, just as my lady left them. She's got them now, with the jewellery, and she spends all her time pull ing the things on and off again. She has sent away every one of the servants except the two grooms, because they were not civil, she says.

And so here we are in this big house, we three — she, I, and the little maid, the only one she kept out of all the lot. And, Joe, I am afraid." "Nonsense, Chauncey; what should you be afraid of?" But the doctor did not like the look of things. " I am afraid of being robbed. Look at my Collection, left by itself all night. Why, some one might break in and carry off the very gems of the whole. I want to leave it, too, to the National Museum just as I have put it to gether." "Very good, Chauncey, so you shall. I will charge myself with that part of your intentions, at any rate. But no one will steal into your Collection, be sure; no one knows the value of these things." " That is not all," he went on, whispering. " I am afraid of her, Joe — I am desperately afraid of her. When night comes, I go away and lock myself up in Gerald's room — you know: the i — west wing, where there's only one door of com munication, and I barricade that for fear she should get in."

"By Jove!" said the doctor, "this is conjugal felicity. This is an encouragement for a young bachelor like me to get married, isn't it?" "Once in, I feel safe. I've got my pistols loaded, and there's a chain on the door. They shall never take me alive, Joe — never!" " Come, Chauncey, do not talk nonsense." "You I can trust; you would never betray your cousin, if only for the sake of old kindness, to say nothing of the family name. I never re gretted telling you, Joe. But oh! if I had only kept it back from her!" "Really, Chauncey, I must say, considering what humbug the whole thing is, it was worse than folly to tell her." " It was not my fault, Joe. Why did you send her to me? It was lonely in the evenings, and I got to sit with her to escape the — you know — the faces, because I was miserable and afraid of being left alone.

Then we used to have brandy and water, and she would talk to me. She's a clever woman. Oh, Joe, what a clever woman she is! And she hid nothing from me, you know; told me all her life — " Joseph smiled. " How she had been on the stage, and all. The evenings were pleasant after she came; and then I told her how lonely I was, and how miserable; and one night— oh, Joe! — one night I told her everything, everything from the beginning. She heard me right through, and the next day she said that to make it safe I was to marry her right off. Because, you see, I was in her power." " In her power? Ugh!" The doctor's disgust that any one besides himself should have this man in his power was too great for any words. He grunted. " Go on, Chauncey. A pretty mess you've made of it for yourself and me too.

Go on." " She gave me no rest after that. She was at me all day. She made me tell the story of — you know — till I used to go into the woods, and shout and scream— I could not help it, Joe, indeed I could not — in order to get the dreadful thing out of my head. Oh, miserable wretch that I am! Why did the Lord suffer this evil to fall upon me? Why did I hate the man who never did me any harm at all, but only good? Joe, Joe, she went further; she said that if by any one telling, or any subsequent inquiries being made, I should be taken to Exeter — Exeter!" he cried, with a pitiful sob in his voice, "where I've been a county magistrate myself — tried for murder, and" — he dropped his voice to a whisper — "hanged, Joe, you, she said, would only be transported for life, as an accessory and accomplice."

"Oh, I am to get transportation for life, am I? Good, Mrs. Chacomb; very good." " Buy her off, Joe — buy her off. She is dan gerous." " Not she, Chauncey. Don't be afraid. What else did she say?" "She said you sent her down here because you thought she was your tool, and would do what you told her to do." "She's a devil!" growled the doctor, moved to pity and wrath by the sight of his cousin's misery. Most people would resent the ill-treat ment of a servant, pet, or slave, always supposed to be their own peculiar property. Chauncey was Joseph's own property, and here he was actually being bullied and ill-treated by some body else! "Chauncey," he explained, "I give you my word of honour that I sent you this woman because I thought she would be an intelligent and kind-hearted housekeeper for you, and because, my dear fellow, I was afraid to leave you by yourself."

"Yes; it was very kind of you, Joe. I have not been myself since that dreadful day. Then she made me marry her; told me that it was the only escape for me from you ; that she knew how to manage me, and that — Hush, here she comes." The door opened, and the second Mrs. Cha comb sailed into the room, gorgeously attired in silks, which would have looked more than splendid had they been in the fashion; as it was, they were twenty years behind it, and so presented a grotesque appearance. "Joe!" she cried — "I beg your pardon, Dr. Chacomb. My husband always calls you Joe." " Pray call me Joe, Mrs. Chacomb," he said, politely. "We are cousins, you know, now. We are not what we were once." Which was true. "We shall have dinner as soon as you are ready, Joe," she replied, graciously, but with an obvious uneasiness.

"Why did you not say you were coming ? I am afraid you will fare badly." As he left the room, the doctor heard an angry whisper — "What have you told him? " Nothing — nothing," replied her hapless lord and master, relapsing into his usual melancholy taciturnity. Joseph came down again quickly, and gave his arm to the ex-housekeeper with much ce remony. He noticed with surprise that she squeezed it affectionately. The dinner was wretched — a fowl badly cooked by the little maid, and potatoes nearly hard. To make up, there was a bottle of port, which appeared to be a standing part of the evening meal, put out for the use of Mrs. Cha comb. The doctor took his share, however. The conversation languished, and Joseph found it insufferably dull. The woman at one end of the table, with her airs and affectations, disgusted him; the man at the other moved his innermost soul to pity and contempt; the little girl who waited on them, the only other crea ture in the big house, trembled at every move ment of her mistress.

" Where are your servants, Mrs. Chacomb ? " he asked, when the girl had left them. " Gone, Joe," she replied, with a greater con fidence in using the Christian name than she had shown before dinner. " Gone, and a good riddance, too." " Get some more — get some more at once. Chacomb Hall must not be left to the care of a child." The woman resented his tone, but said no thing. They did not adjourn, but sat round the fire after dinner, in silence. The clock struck nine ; the squire rose so lemnly, and shook hands with his cousin. "Joe, you are more than welcome here. I am very glad you have come. Keep on coming. Come as often as you can." Then he took a candle and went away. " My husband's habits are peculiar," said Mrs. Chacomb. " At present he occupies the empty wing, Mr. Gerald's wing." " I see."

Then the little girl brought brandy and cold water, and asked if there was anything else. " You have looked to all the locks and bolts? " " Yes, my lady. Mrs. Chacomb had taught her to say " my lady," as a sort of reminder that she was no longer a housekeeper. "Then you may go to bed." " Do you mean to tell me that the poor child sleeps all alone in the empty servants' room?" "No; she sleeps in the little room next to mine, the dressing-room." And then the two were left alone in the great empty house, about which not a sound was heard save the cracking of the furniture and the wind in the trees outside. "Lively, Joe, isn't it?" asked Mrs. Chacomb. " This is how I spend the evenings. I am not going to carry on like this always, though, and I let you know it." "Julia," said the doctor, "what did you do it for ?

You have really made a great fool of yourself. I expected better things." " Why does any woman marry a man who is a fool, and old to boot ? Because he is rich." "Of course, and because he is cracked, and you thought you could do what you liked with his money." "Well, you've been doing what you like with it for four years." "I was his cousin; you were, Julia, his house keeper." " Never mind what I was. I am his wife." " So I suppose. And what if there was to be a row?" " Ah, that would be bad, would it not ? " she replied, with a cunning smile. " I should have to confess that my husband is a murderer, and his cousin an accomplice." "Julia, don't be a fool. You don't mean to say you believe — " " I do, though. I believe every word of it." "Then leave off believing it, and try to be rational.

The row I mean is quite a different thing. Suppose I was to say, ' This man has been forced into an unequal and unhappy mar riage by a woman whom I sent down to take care of him — a woman who wormed herself into his confidence, and traded on his fears ; who found out the point in which his lunacy shows itself, and persuaded him that his hallu cinations were a reality.' What should we see then?" " I don't know, Joe. It would be an interest ing thing to see." " Do you imagine, Julia, that I cannot prove the death of Captain Revel to have been the purest accident? " " What proof have you ?" " Read the account of the inquest, if you can get it. If not, wait till my proof is wanted again." " I believe it would be awkward, in spite of what you say, if I were to declare that there is no hallucination at all."

"Melodramatic, Julia — not awkward at all. Effective but useless. It reminds me of Sad ler's Wells days, when you were an innocent and jolly young actress, not a scheming woman, compassing a selfish end by cruel means. . Yes, cruel, Julia. It was a cruel thing to torture him as you did; and mark me, if you do it again, if you dare to allude to his miserable delusion, you leave Chacomb Hall at once. There, if you refuse, I take the thing into my own hands, and get a separation, exposing all the means — the unworthy means — used to force the poor man into a marriage with you. How would you like the servants one after the other giving their evidence ?" A random shot, but it told. She was silent. "One more thing, my friend Julia. What ever power you had over Chauncey as his housekeeper you have lost by becoming his wife.

You can't give testimony for or against your husband. It is a cruel and wicked law in most cases. In yours, my dear creature, it seems a most beneficent regulation. So, you see, you have been too clever for your own interests." "At all events, I am his wife. And now, Joe, we will leave all stupid talk about delusions. Chauncey may be mad or not, just as you like. Meantime, I am the mistress of Cha comb Hall. I mean to receive the rents, and to have things exactly as I please." " I was coming to that point next," said the doctor. "The fact is that the news of your marriage forced me to look into my own rights and powers. You know that I have managed the Chacomb property for four years. Pray understand at once that I intend to go on ma naging everything down here — and everybody. I am resolved that the Chacomb property shall be wisely administered, and the present owner shall be kindly treated.

If you attempt to in terfere, I will separate you from your husband on the ground of his lunacy. I nominated myself before as the trustee of the estates, and if I meet with opposition I will be nominated by the Court of Chancery. Be under no false im pression of your own importance — you have none. You are of less account now than you were before your marriage, because then you were a trusted servant, and you are now — or you may be if you choose — a suspected enemy." " Pray go on," she said. " I am to be nothing, I suppose." " Nothing at all. You may keep up your own dignity as before. You will be under my orders, or you will leave Chacomb Hall." "What are your orders?" "Kindness and care for Chauncey; that the place is kept up properly; a quiet and decorous life for yourself." "And if I refuse?"

"Separation, and as small an allowance as I can persuade the lawyers to make you." "And Chauncey?" " In that case, I should get him a keeper of the other sex." She poured out some brandy and water, and srave it him with a cheerful smile. "Joe," she said, "you know I would not be such a bad lot as to round on your cousin, what ever he's done — though how in the world you can call it a delusion the Lord only knows. As for your orders, why, you dear old boy, when did I ever disobey you, except in marrying that poor little undersized Richard the Third sort of madman ? Let us be friends." " Only on condition of your carrying out faith fully all I want," said the doctor. " Of course I will," she replied, with a wonder ful clearing up of her face. Some women look so much better when they are humble and obe dient.

" Then let us have no more quarrelling. After all, I do like a masterful man. As for you, Joe, you always were masterful. I give in. I will do] whatever you like. Shake hands, old fellow, and forget the row." He shook her ringed and jewelled fingers with more ceremony than she cared for. A little of the old ease and familiarity would have been more agreeable to her. "We will be friends," said the doctor, "so long as—" "Yes, yes, I know. You shall be obeyed. Did I not always obey you when you hadn't a red cent in your pocket, and was only Joe Chacomb — rattling Joe — marching about behind the scenes as if the place belonged to you? Those were the real jolly times. Oysters and stout—" " Oysters were sixpence a dozen then," said the doctor, with a sigh of sympathy. "The wind used indeed to be tempered to the shorn lamb.

How the deuce do medical students manage now, I wonder?" " You sang a good song then, Joe.' " I did," he said, shaking his head. " Do you remember that night when we had supper after Boxing Night at the Wells ? Lotty Vandeleur — Wicks her real name was — and I danced after supper, for you to decide which danced best. You gave me the prize, I remember. This was the step." She sprang to her feet, gathered up her skirts, and began to dance after the old-fashioned Co lumbine manner, which had, perhaps, certain advantages over modern burlesque dancing. It was a curious sight, this stout and jolly-looking woman of forty gravely pirouetting, with her heavy silks gathered up under her arm. The doctor looked on and laughed. " Let me smoke, Ju, and it will be almost like old times." He lit a cigar, and they fell back on talk, and reminiscences of a jeunesse orageusc.

At two o'clock in the morning he got up, and shook himself together. VOL. III. "By Jove!" he said, "we were almost forget ting that I am forty-nine and you are forty. Good night, Ju." " Good night, Joe. On revient tou jours dt ses premiers amours. As if you are" ever going to forget the jolly days when you were young. Lord! I saw Lotty Vandeleur the other day — she keeps a lodging-house in the Hampstead road — and we talked about you. Joe, you were a bad boy — oh, a shocking bad boy! You are only better now because you are richer." " Good night, Mrs. Chauncey Chacomb." "Good night again, Dr. Joseph Chacomb, Phy sician to the Royal Hospital for Gout. Butter would not melt in your mouth now, would it? You do not remember the taste of oysters and stout, do you? You never heard of a ballet, did you?

You never sat up half the night, with a houp-houp-houp-la! tra-la-la-la! and a party of youth and beauty, did you? Gravesend on Sun day is a thing you never heard of, isn't it ? Oh, Joe, to think that we should ever get old and be hypocrites! To think that we can only last ten years or so, and then have to give up being jolly, and pretend we like being miserable ! Isn't it too bad ? And, Joe, Joe, did you ever think that I should be such a fool, such a great, big, silly fool, as to marry that — that — " " My cousin Chauncey, Julia ? I did not think it, nor did you. But you did it. To know ourselves, Mrs. Chauncey, is the end of all phi losophy." 2 —

Chapter II

lARION was at work before Adie was dressed or Fred had risen, when a letter was brought her, addressed Marion Revel, tout court — without, that is, the ordinary gracious prefix of miss or madam. The writing was slovenly and half edu cated, the spelling was loose ; but the postmark was Comb Leigh, and Marion tore it open with a trembling hand. She read it with bewilder ment. " Marion Revel" (it began)—" My husband has received the letter you caused to be sent to him. He wishes me to say that he will give you nothing. That is all. For my own part, I beg to assure you, with the most profound respect, that you can do no harm to him, and that you had better not try it on. I defy you.— Yours to command, "Julia Chacomb." " P.S.— I know all about it." There was a second postscript, written in a shaky hand, outside the envelope — " She won't let me send you any money.

Ask Joseph.— C. C." What did it mean? Marion read and re-read the letter. Presently Adie appeared. " Read that extraordinary letter, Adie dear. Tell me what it means, if you can." "It is from the new Mrs. Chacomb. I met the doctor yesterday — " " Adie, I hope you remembered your promise not to speak to him about — " "We did not talk about you, dear. I told him about Fred and the five pounds; and he laughed, and offered to give me some more." "You did not take it?" " No, Marion, I did not. Then he told me about Chauncey Chacomb. He has married his housekeeper. I suppose the name of the lady is Julia. Evidently it is from her. Poor Mr. Cha comb! He used to be kind to us in his way." "But what does the letter mean?" " It means, Marion, I suspect — it means that Fred has been writing for money."

"Oh, Adie, he would not — he could not!" " He could, because he has written at different times to everybody who would lend him any. My dear Marion, Fred is one of those lazy lilies who neither can nor will toil and spin. He only borrows." "But from Chauncey Chacomb! Oh, it would be impossible for him to borrow of Chauncey Chacomb." " He wrote once to the doctor, I know, because the doctor told me so; and he is always writing to Lord Rodney Benbow.". "Oh, Fred, Fred, what will become of us?" sighed Marion. She thought of what the doctor had prophe sied — that all the nobleness left in her brother would drop out of him little by little, till there should be no spark left at all ; and she felt that this was a beginning of the end. What was she to do ? " It is clear what will become of Fred," said her sister, who was in a harsh mood towards her brother, in consequence of the embargo laid upon the four sovereigns.

" It is clear enough that Fred never means to do anything except live upon his friends. Marion, don't say anything. I am as fond of my brother as you can be, but I am not so blind to his faults. I told you about the money yesterday. In the evening there was nothing left; he had paid away the whole of it in a single day. He does not go into the City at all, as he pretends; he spends the whole day — think of it, Marion, the whole day long — in bil liard-rooms, playing pool for sixpences. When he is lucky, he wins ten or fifteen shillings a day, and sometimes more; with this he goes to a restaurant, and dines well. When he is unlucky, he makes you give him money for dinner, and dines well too." " Don't, Adie! You are unjust.' " No, I am true. Whatever we do, Marion — whatever you do, for I can do nothing — we shall be always burdened with the weight of our brother, who is more idle than the shifting shadows."

The door opened, and he came in, fresh from dressing, radiant, handsome, and graceful. Marion gave him the letter to read. "Who is Julia Chacomb?" he asked, with the least possible blush. " Mr. Chacomb is married again — to his housekeeper." " Oh, I wish I had known it," said Fred. " Frederick, is it possible that you have written for money to Mr. Chauncey Chacomb?" "Yes, Marion, I have." He tried to put on a defiant and even consciously innocent air, but it was a failure; his eyes dropped before her look. " Yes, Marion, I have." "Do you often write to people for money?" " Sometimes I do. I write to whomever I think will help me. I am the head ofthe house, and I act as I think best in the interests of us all." The girls looked at each other — Marion in dismay. "Fred, I am in earnest," she said, after a little.

"You are not to write to any one again for money. It is dishonourable." " I am the best judge of that," he said. "Then judge so for yourself. Above everything, remember, once for all, that I will not have any letters written to Chauncey Chacomb. There are reasons— oh, heaven! are there not reasons ? — why we can never, never, not in the last extremities of poverty, apply to Chauncey Chacomb." "You talk strangely, Marion," said her brother. " You talk wisely, Marion," said her sister. "You forget, perhaps," continued Frederick, " that I am the master of my own actions." " No, I do not forget. You will do what you think best, without any interference from us. But one thing I can do — " "Marion!" cried Adie, alarmed. " Adie, let me say it for once, and have done with it. The time is come when we must under stand each < .her.

Our father was the most honourable man in all the world — thank God for it! — and we, Adie and I, try to follow in his steps. You may stay with us as long as you will do the same. We shall not grudge you all you want, if we can afford it. We will give you what we can, we will] spare and save for you. But I will not, I cannot, keep even my own brother in the same house with me if I cease to think him — a gentleman." Fred was perfectly silent. "Fred, dear," she continued, caressing his head as if he were a child, "will you promise me — promise me, my dear — to write no more such letters? If we cannot give you quite all the luxuries you would like, we will give you all we can. The other day Adie went without food all day, in order that you might dine well. You took all the money that our only friend had given her.

To-day you shall have what we have, only leave us enough to buy something — it matters little what — to eat. Do what you like, my brother, if you cannot work or find work to do, but spare us dishonour. Let us keep our name, at least, from the mouths of people. Surely, this is but a little thing to ask you." Fred rose with something like an oath upon his lips; but it was bravado, not rage. He was not so hardened as not to feel the justice of his sister's reproaches. " Let me go, Marion. One would think I was a — a — devil — a fiend. Is it I who keep you starving? Is it I who keep you living in this miserable hole, when — " "It is, Fred— you, and nobody else," said Adie. " Marion has made nearly three pounds a week for months. With that and her own income we could all three live in a cottage, where there was fresh air at least.

Out of the three you have taken two. And what have you done with it?" "Why should I not write to Chauncey Cha comb? He was my father's best friend — his only friend. It is his duty to help us. Marion, you forget yourself strangely when you lecture me on points of honour. Remember, if you please, that I have all my life associated with gentlemen and men of honour. I have — " " Once more, my brother, understand me clearly. So long as I can make the money for you I shall not complain, provided — I will not repeat it." He left his breakfast untasted, seized his hat, and went out. " I am glad you spoke, Marion dear," said Adie; "not that it will do much good, but it shows Fred what we think. My dear, I will try to get something for myself to do — I will indeed — so as to relieve you a little." Marion shook her head, and laughed through her tears.

"Poor Adie! I do not think you will do much good, but you may try. Women's work is not for girls who have no training and no art. Go and consult my wrinkled little friend, the schoolmaster. You can get nothing but good advice from him." "Why cannot I paint like you, Marion? It seems so easy." Adie's notions of art were limited. She could understand colour, as was proved by her dress, but she had no more feeling for form than gene rally belongs to her sex. It is strange that the sense of beauty — the sixth sense — is so deficient in one-half of the human race. Men very early learned it: witness the names in that brief chronicle of antediluvian women. Eve's name means breath of life: she is simply the mother, because poor Adam, who had no means of com parison, probably failed to appreciate her beauty at its true worth.